


So Please Don't Love Me

by nautical_2



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, M/M, but its super small and not rlly relevant to the story, jun is a burned out pianist and wonwoo rlly likes his plants, some unresolved plot because the author was tired and wanted to go to bed, thats it thats the fic, this fic exists because i was sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24915727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nautical_2/pseuds/nautical_2
Summary: There’s a boy living in the apartment across the way from Junhui. He comes out to water his plants twice a day, and if Junhui opens the window while the boy is watering his plants on the balcony, they could probably touch fingertips.Junhui has long arms, and there’s nothing but a dirty alleyway between their apartments.Junhui has also been lonely for a very long time.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo & Wen Jun Hui | Jun, Jeon Wonwoo/Wen Jun Hui | Jun, Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Comments: 17
Kudos: 117





	So Please Don't Love Me

**Author's Note:**

> therapy: expensive  
> writing fanfic so that you can project all your problems onto characters without any repercussions in the real world: free
> 
> title comes from jun's only line in Lie Again and if you don't think i burst into tears every time i hear it think again

There’s a boy living in the apartment across the way from Junhui. 

Well, boy might not be the right term. They look around the same age, and the boy has black hair that falls into his eyes and strong hands. He has a large window and a balcony, with potted plants lining the railing and an old but comfy looking couch gathering dust and sun. Junhui has a slightly smaller window but he leaves the curtains open most of the time, because Cǎoméi likes the sunshine. If Junhui opens the window while the boy waters his plants on the balcony, they could probably touch fingertips. 

Junhui has long arms, and there’s nothing but a dirty alleyway between their apartments.

Junhui has also been lonely for a very long time.

\---

The boy comes out to water his plants twice a day. Once in the morning, when Junhui has been awake for hours, hands splayed across the keys, unable to play a single note. The boy always looks like he’s just woken up, glasses tilted on his nose and hair rumpled. Most of the time he’s wearing pajama pants with some sort of cute animal on them. Mostly cats, to Cǎoméi’s delight.

He never notices Junhui, then. The boy will water his plants, touch a few leaves here and there, and go back inside his apartment. 

He also waters his plants at sunset, when the sun has just started setting. Sometimes, Junhui isn’t home, running errands before work, but most of the time he is. The boy will be wearing street clothes, then, and contacts instead of glasses. Sometimes he’ll look through the window and wave to Junhui. Other times, he’ll barely spare Junhui a glance, and go back inside.

It’s okay. They’re not friends– not even strangers, really. Just two people, existing side by side. 

Sometimes, on the rare occasion, when Junhui had barely managed to get out of bed the whole day, he sits down on his couch and closes the blinds on the big window. Cǎoméi will meow, and dig her claws into Junhui’s leg, but the sun will be back tomorrow. She’ll be okay. 

On these days, Junhui doesn’t want to see the boy. Doesn’t want to see anyone, really, beside his cat.

So he doesn’t. 

\---

The boy has friends over a lot. They’re probably university friends, if Junhui were to guess, because they all look to be around the same age. Junhui himself is 24 now– most people his age have just graduated university, or just started their job, or are starting to get the hang of living their lives the way normal people should. 

These days are always the hardest. 

Junhui has learned their faces by now, because he spends hours sitting at his bench, pretending he isn’t looking spying on his neighbor through the window. There’s the boy with the slanted eyes that can’t sit still, and the quiet small one who refuses to let anyone touch him. Those are the ones who come over most often. 

After that, there’s the boy with cow eyes and big lips, who shrinks when you stare at him for too long. Then there’s the tall one who looks like a puppy and brings full plastic bags from the market and always goes to the kitchen first when he enters the apartment. There’s also angel one and angel two, who only ever come over when cow-eyes is there, and sunflower and elbow, who only ever come over when puppy is there. 

(There are others, too, like tangerine and tie-dye and smiley, but Junhui sometimes forgets about them, because they don’t come over that much and having eleven friends is about ten more than Junhui has ever had. It’s hard enough to remember Mingming sometimes– he can’t imagine having to remember so many people and becoming invested in their lives.)

One night, it’s tiny who comes out to water the plants. Junhui is sitting at his bench, fingertips barely touching the keys, pages of sheet music in front of him. And yet– not a single sound can be heard in the apartment, except for Cǎoméi, whose batting a plastic wrapper across the floor. 

Movement out of the corner of Junhui’s eye catches his attention. The door to the balcony slides open, but instead of the boy, it’s his small friend who's carrying the watering can. He looks uncomfortable and out of place, but Junhui can see the boy and his other friend inside the apartment, watching and talking amongst themselves. 

Tiny catches Junhui watching him and waves. On instinct, Junhui waves back. 

Tiny smiles the smallest of smiles– a tiny smile, if you will, and wiggles his hands in the air, like he’s playing an air piano. 

Junhui’s heart drops out of his chest. There’s an emptiness there, and unfilled space, and it’s aching and growing and swallowing him whole. 

He shakes his head, and closes the lid of the piano– gently, because he’s no monster. Picking up Cǎoméi, he retreats to his his room, where he hides for the rest of the night.

\---

“Hey, you’re my neighbor, right?” Junhui snaps out of his own thoughts, where he was comparing the merits of baking his own bread versus buying a loaf. On one hand, making it is cheaper, tastes better, and he’s done it before. On the other hand, he can’t be sure that he’ll have the motivation to make a whole loaf of bread and carry through with the entire process. 

“Sure.” Junhui says, picking up the loaf in front of him. It expires in a week, but that should be fine. Junhui doesn’t eat much else anyway. “If you call ‘living across the street from you’ neighbors.” 

The boy snorts. “That’s barely a street. An alleyway, maybe, but it’s hard to care when you’re seventeen floors up. We’re neighbors.”

Junhui laughs too, and nods, because this is the first time he’s talked to anyone beside coworkers and customers in at least a week. 

“I’m Jeon Wonwoo.” The boy says, and Junhui takes note of his expression carefully, trying to match the face and what he knows about the boy with his name. 

“Hello, Jeon Wonwoo.” He replies. “I’m Wen Junhui– ah, Moon Junhwi, if that’s easier.” Junhui has lived in this country for six years, and he still doesn’t know his own name. Typical.

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “Not from here, then?”

Junhui shakes his head. “China.” 

“Where in China? One of my friends is from Liaoning.”

The pronunciation is sloppy, accents in the wrong direction, but Junhui understands. He bets it’s the guy with sharp-eyes, the one that’s all bones. Something about his face had called out to Junhui, screaming something along the lines of _home._

“Guangdong.” Junhui says. He doesn’t expect Wonwoo to know where that is, and if his open mouthed facial expression is anything to go by, he doesn’t. That’s fine. Junhui hasn’t been around anyone who knows anything about his home land in ages, and it’s been even longer since he’s been back. 

Which is fine. 

“Jihoon likes your piano.” Wonwoo says, changing the subject. 

Junhui blinks. “I have no idea who Jihoon is.” Probably one of Wonwoo’s friends, but the guy has so many– 9? 10? Junhui lost count long ago.

Wonwoo hums, and picks up a bread roll a few feet away from Junhui. Junhui wonders if this is how all conversations go– he wouldn’t know. And now, all he can think about is leaving.

“I have to finish my shopping. I have work in a little while.” It’s a lie, but Wonwoo won’t know the truth if Junhui stays in his room for the rest of the night. “It was nice talking to you, finally.” 

Wonwoo looks up from his bread, smiles, and nods. “Yeah, I’ll see you around.” He says.

\---

That night, or early morning, depending, when Wonwoo’s lights are out and he’s somewhere in his apartment, sleeping, Junhui creeps over to his piano. It’s a glossy white, and in the afternoon sun it turns golden, but in the dead of night it reflects the light of the moon and makes Junhui think of home. Of standing outside his parents’ house holding his little brother’s hand and watching the moon rise together.

He sits down at the bench and lifts the lid carefully. The keys stare back at him, accusing lines of white and black ivory. He’s afraid to put his hand on the keys, afraid to press them, afraid that he might ruin whatever safety the full moon can offer him. 

Gently, he presses middle C. C4. If you asked Junhui what _home_ sounds like, he would say this note. It’s an unassuming note, not one of any value, not like tuning A, but it’s the first note any budding pianist learns to recognize. It’s home. 

Junhui’s piano is slightly flat, because he hasn’t played it for a while. The note rings quietly through the apartment, but it sounds wrong, because there is no more home. Not anymore, now that everything’s been ruined. 

“Meow.” Cǎoméi says.

“I agree.” Junhui replies, and heads back to his room for another sleepless night.

\---

“Fancy running into you here. You come here often?” Junhui barely blinks at the come on, twisting a damp cloth between his fingers. 

“Very funny.” He tells Wonwoo, who grins like he’s the first person to say those lines. (He’s not. Junhui has heard them at least four times so far tonight, and one of those times he had had to call security, because the girl on the receiving end was half drunk and scared out of her mind. Her drink was drugged, too, and Junhui had been left with a twisting feeling in his stomach and a headache behind his eyes.)

“Hey!” Another boy around Wonwoo’s age slides into the stool next to him, his arm flinging itself around Wonwoo’s shoulder. Belatedly, Junhui recognizes him as the boy with the slanted eyes. He looks different now, in the light of the club, with a tiger print shirt and a black leather jacket that makes Junhui salivate in jealousy. “It’s piano guy!” 

Junhui shakes his head. “I’m not ‘piano’ anything.” 

The boy blinks. “Sure you are! Got that huge grand in your living room, don’t you?” 

“Excuse me.” Junhui says, because there’s someone at the other end of the bar gesturing for him. He feels Wonwoo’s dark eyes on his back as he goes, but when he turns around again, both Wonwoo and his friend are gone, dissolved back into the crowd. 

Two hours later, Wonwoo comes back. This time, he’s with his small friend. They both look tired, but happy, like they’ve spent all two of those hours on the dance floor. Wonwoo’s hair is mussed, like someone ran their hands through it a few too many times, and his small friend’s eyeline is smearing at the corners of his eyes. 

“Oh hey, it’s piano guy.” Junhui really wishes they could come up with a better nickname for him. 

“Oh hey, it’s tiny.” He replies, because revenge is a dish best served cold. 

Tiny’s nostrils flare, and Wonwoo bursts into laughter. Junhui makes sure his expression doesn’t move a muscle, and stares tiny down until he looks away. Junhui, 1. Tiny, 0. 

“Very funny.” Tiny mutters under his breath. Junhui isn’t concerned, even though it looks like he’s about to get murdered. He thinks about how this night has been going and yeah, he probably had it coming. 

Wonwoo finally stops laughing enough to speak. “This is Jihoon.” He chokes out. “And you met Soonyoung earlier.” 

Junhui cracks a smile. He’s exhausted. “Great. I’m Moon Junhwi.” He says the right name, this time. 

Jihoon smiles. “Great.” He parrots back. “I like your piano.” 

It takes every single muscle in Junhui’s body to keep the smile on his face. Junhui read somewhere once that it takes seventeen muscles to smile, but he thinks that’s a lie. It takes all of them. 

“I don’t” Junhui says, as honestly as he can, and waits for them to laugh at the joke he isn’t making. “It’s out of tune.” 

Wonwoo frowns. “Is that why you never play it?” He asks, and Junhui wants to ask how he knows what Junhui does in his spare time, only duh. They have huge windows that face each other. Surely if Junhui is always watching Wonwoo, at some point, Wonwoo is watching him back. 

“I can help with that.” Jihoon says. “I have the tools, and perfect pitch. I can tune your piano for you, I’ve done it before.” 

Junhui thinks maybe that if he had the tools and talents and experience to tune a piano, he would get about three keys in before he gave up. But maybe Jihoon isn’t like him. Maybe Jihoon has motivation. 

“I don’t have the money to pay you.” Junhui says, because he’s working in a sleazy club and has _maybe_ 20,000 won in his bank account at any given moment.

Jihoon laughs. “I’ll do it for free, if you let me play her after.” 

Her? Junhui wonders who _she_ is, before realizing that Jihoon probably means his piano. Right. 

“Sure, okay.” Junhui replies, before attempting to smile again. This one comes a little easier. “But only if you’re good.” 

\---

Junhui gave his piano a name, once, a very long time ago. He called it Tiānshǐ, angel, and when talking to Mingming, would always refer to it as his girlfriend. His baby. His everything. 

Back in university, she had sounded like a choir of angels to Junhui. Every chord, every melody, Junhui had ran around campus telling anyone who would listen to him that Tiānshǐ sounded better than the piano in the big concert hall. Mingming, who liked to sit on the floor next to the bench and listen to Junhui play, was the only one who agreed.

Now, it sits in Junhui’s living room, in his tiny apartment. There’s nowhere else to put it, but he can’t bear to be parted from it. Junhui can’t play anymore, and he’s starting to forget how, because Tiānshǐ to him was love and he doesn’t think he has any of that left in him. 

\---

Wonwoo, for the first time since he’s moved into the apartment across the way from Junhui, waves as he waters his plants in the morning. Junhui smiles, and waves back. 

He’s sitting on his couch, netflix queue up on the laptop in front of him, Cǎoméi curled up in his lap, ready for a productive day of doing absolutely nothing. 

Wonwoo plays an imaginary piano, points to the back of his wrist, and holds up two fingers. Junhui, who knows many languages but has yet to learn any form of sign language, rolls his eyes and opens the window. 

It’s the first time he’s opened the window in a while, and it’s hard work, but he gets it done. Wonwoo, who's watching him with one eyebrow raised and a teasing smile on his lips, claps when Junhui finally gets it open. 

“Good job.” He says. The apartments are close enough together that he doesn’t have to raise his voice. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Junhui replies. “What were you saying?”

“Jihoon wants to come over and tune your piano at two. Is that okay?” 

Junhui thinks about his netflix queue, but when he looks back at the couch, Cǎoméi is curled up on the keyboard of his laptop, purring at the warmth. Junhui sighs. 

“Yeah sure, that’s fine.” He squints. “You should develop better hand signals.” 

Wonwoo laughs. “I dunno, those seemed pretty obvious to me.” 

Junhui sighs. “Two pm. There’s no security, so come right up and knock.” 

\---

Jihoon spends two hours tuning Junhui’s piano. During that time, Junhui offers both Wonwoo and Jihoon water and toast, because he has no other food in the house. Wonwoo takes two slices and goes to touch the piano keys, and both Junhui and Jihoon jump about 60 centimeters into the air. 

“You wash your hands before you touch my baby.” Junhui glares while Jihoon hisses like Cǎoméi. Wonwoo blinks heavily with wounded eyes while Soonyoung, who has made his home on Junhui’s couch for some reason, bursts into laughter. Cǎoméi abandons his lap, surprised by the noise, and makes her way daintily to Junhui’s room.

“Your baby?” Wonwoo asks. Junhui doesn’t answer because Wonwoo’s already taking his dirty hands back, and really, that’s all Junhui could ask for. 

“I’m not surprised.” Soonyoung says. “Jihoonie calls all of his instruments his children, too.” 

“Don’t call me that.” Jihoon says, most likely on instinct, because he’s completely focused on his work in front of him. Junhui’s stomach twists, because Jihoon and Soonyoung had shown up holding hands, and Soonyoung watches Jihoon as he bends over with eyes that are definitely not appropriate for public. They’re in love, or at least fucking, and the more Junhui thinks about it the more he feels the void inside him grow. 

“You take good care of her.” Jihoon says. “It’s only because you haven’t tuned her in a while that she’s like this, but she’ll be okay.” 

Junhui knows. He takes better care of his piano than he does himself, most of the time. 

“Her name is Tiānshǐ.” He says. “She was a gift from my father when I got into university.” Junhui doesn’t know where these words are coming from, because they most certainly aren’t coming from him. Maybe it’s the fact that there are people, real human people, in his apartment. The last time someone else even stood in this apartment was Mingming, and Junhui had always been as honest as he could be with him.

Not honest enough, but Junhui doesn’t want to think about Mingming right now. 

“That’s nice of him.” Jihoon replies, unmistakable jealousy in his eyes. “He must really care about you.” 

“That was the first time in ten years I had heard from him.” Junhui hears himself say. Wonwoo, Jihoon, and Soonyoung are silent. 

Junhui remembers that day clearly. He was sitting in the bedroom that he shared with his little brother, wondering if it was too late to take back his commitment to the performing arts university in Seoul, when his stepfather had knocked on his door and handed him an envelope. 

It had no return address, and inside was a cheque and a short note. _To Junhui, from dad_ the note had said, and on the subject line of the cheque, it said _make beautiful music._ The cheque was made out for 150 million won, more than enough for a nice piano, and Junhui had crumpled the note in his hands, fingernails biting into his palms to stop himself from crying.

He hadn’t actually ended up using the money until two years later, when he moved out of the dorms into a one bedroom apartment with Mingming. This apartment, actually, where he still lives four years later. 

“I take it back, then.” Jihoon says, casually, and somehow the normalcy of that statement is enough to make Junhui laugh. Wonwoo and Soonyoung follow suit, and it may not be music filling the apartment, but it’s close enough. 

\---

Jihoon sits down at the piano, and just from the way he holds his hands over the keys, Junhui knows that he’s classically trained. 

He plays a piece Junhui doesn’t recognize, which is to be expected, because Junhui hasn’t listened to classical music in a very long time, and his memory’s a pile of shit anyway. But there’s a certain tilt to the way Jihoon is sitting, and the way he holds his whole body as he plays that tells Junhui exactly what this piece is. 

“You wrote that, didn’t you? Original composition.” 

Jihoon smiles. “Is it that obvious?” He asks, hands still resting on the final chord, even though the sound has already faded away. 

Junhui shrugs. “You play like you’re in love.” He says. 

Junhui’s fingers are itching to play. He wants to map out where Jihoon’s fingers just were, trace the curves of the music, learn this piece by heart so that maybe he too will one day be able to fall in love. 

Instead, Junhui digs his fingers into his jeans, the fabric preventing his nails from biting into skin. “Play me another one.” He demands, and Jihoon does. 

\---

Junhui had dragged Mingming with him the summer after their second year to the music store. 

They had the apartment all picked out already: a cheap place, made cheaper by the fact that the two of them were sharing, with a wide open living room half shaded from the large window facing the apartment complex next to them– perfect for a piano.

Mingming had trailed after Junhui as he ambled around the store, pointing out different options and playing cheesy beginners songs on the different keyboards. Junhui had smiled, then, and laughed, because he thought he knew what love was.

Mingming had sat at the foot of the bench as Junhui played the instrument that was soon to become Tiānshǐ, and the two of them had fallen in love immediately. He had held Junhui’s hand when he handed over his father’s money, fingers interlocked tightly, and had not let go until the two of them had arrived back home. 

When Mingming kissed Junhui, in the doorway of their new apartment, his lips smearing Junhui’s carefully applied chapstick, Junhui had kissed him back the best he could, biting back nausea the whole time. 

\---

\---

Junhui learns a lot about Wonwoo over the next two months. 

He learns that Wonwoo has a little brother two years younger than him. Jeon Bohyuk is studying at some university in Busan but is also modelling on the side, and Junhui sees the pride clear as day in Wonwoo’s eyes when he talks about his little brother.

“He says he’s more handsome than me, but I could probably model too, if I wanted to.” Wonwoo boasts, and Junhui quietly agrees.

He learns that Wonwoo just graduated university, and is currently getting his Masters degree in classical literature. 

“I’m also writing a book.” Wonwoo tells Junhui, eyes shining. “It’s about soulmates who never get together and find their happiness in other people.” 

“Isn’t that sad?” Junhui asks.

Wonwoo shrugs. “It depends on who you ask. If they’re both happy in their own relationships, then who's to say that soulmates are the end all be all of happiness?” 

He learns that Wonwoo grew up by the ocean, but hates fish and all seafood, and loves anything spicy. He likes the colors blue and purple, and everyone labeled him as “emo” in high school because he only wore black and grew his hair out long.

“Was it hard finding food to eat, then?” Junhui asks. 

Wonwoo shakes his head. “Everyone around me was super accommodating. I think my parents were too nice to me, growing up.” He laughs, and Junhui does too, because he knows exactly what that’s like. 

“Did you have a lot of friends?” 

Wonwoo smiles, and shakes his head again. “Not then.” He replies. “But that’s okay. I got to stay out of the drama, that way.” 

Wonwoo has a lot of friends now, though. There’s Soonyoung and Jihoon, of course, but there’s also Seungcheol and Jeonghan and Joshua, who are a year older than them. There’s Mingyu and Seokmin and Minghao, who are a year younger, and Seungkwan and Vernon and Chan, who are even younger but Junhui rarely sees. 

“Come meet my friends.” Wonwoo asks him every week. After a month of Junhui saying no, he stops trying. 

It’s not that Junhui doesn’t want to meet Wonwoo’s friends. He watches them through the window, sometimes, sitting at the piano bench, and they all seem like perfectly decent people. They smile a lot and laugh a lot and Junhui remembers, vaguely, what it was like to be happy. 

But he’s satisfied with this little group he’s created for himself. Or, that Wonwoo’s created for him. Jihoon keeps visiting, most of the time with Soonyoung, because he wants to play Tiānshǐ, and he says she sounds better than any of the pianos at his university. Wonwoo comes for Cǎoméi, or so he says, but sometimes he’ll sit on Junhui’s couch and watch his plants from Junhui’s window while Junhui pretends he plays the piano.

Junhui has three friends, now, even if one of them is technically Cǎoméi’s friend. She loves him more than she loves Junhui, anyway. It’s more than he ever thought he would have, and he’s satisfied.

Sometimes, though, it’s too much. Sometimes Jihoon and Soonyoung will knock on Junhui’s door, and Junhui won’t answer. Cǎoméi will scratch at the door frame because she knows whose here to visit, but Junhui’s won’t move from his position on his bed. Wonwoo will go out to water his plants and Junhui will close the shades to avoid seeing him, because it’s all too much. Everything is too much. 

Wonwoo never asks, but Junhui knows he’s curious. Junhui’s a different person on his bad days, and he knows that sooner or later, Wonwoo will crack, and Junhui will either have to let him in or succumb to the loneliness of life once more. 

\---

As Junhui learns about Wonwoo, he offers bits of himself in return. Junhui also grew up next to the ocean, and they share stories about fisherman and boats and sitting in the sand watching the sun set.

Junhui was well-liked in high school– popular because he was beautiful and knew how to play the piano. He had many acquaintances and a few close friends and one best friend, who Junhui structured his life around and moved to Korea with. 

But Junhui doesn’t talk about Mingming.

“I bet my hair was longer than yours.” He tells Wonwoo. 

“You’re probably right.” Wonwoo says, and they look at pictures of high school aged Junhui until they’re both rolling on the floor laughing, Cǎoméi judging from afar.

Wonwoo finds Junhui’s diploma stuffed somewhere onto his shelf in the bedroom. “Music performance.” Wonwoo marvels, tracing the words with his fingers. “Nice.” 

Junhui glows how in embarrassment. “I’m okay.” He says, and Wonwoo doesn’t ask why he no longer plays. 

He tells Wonwoo about his little brother, how they’re technically half brothers, but Junhui has never considered them anything less than family. 

“I don’t need my father.” Junhui has known this for years. “I have my mom and my stepfather and my brother. The piano was nice, though.” He says, as an afterthought, and Wonwoo laughs with him. 

Wonwoo’s eyes shine brightly when he talks about the things he loves, like his brother or his writing or his plants. Sometimes they shine when he looks at Junhui, but only when he thinks Junhui isn’t looking back, and it makes the void in Junhui’s belly grow and grow and grow until he can’t breathe. 

It makes sense. Wonwoo has always been good at making things grow. 

\---

Junhui goes over to Wonwoo’s apartment once. It’s a much nicer place, with a security guard at the front who makes Junhui sign into the building. Wonwoo waits impatiently at the elevator, chewing on his lip. 

“Nice place.” Junhui repeats his thoughts. 

Wonwoo smiles. “They don’t allow pets, so yours is automatically better.” Junhui laughs. 

Wonwoo’s apartment is bigger than Junhui thought it was. There’s the living room, where the door to the balcony is, and Junhui looks through the window and spies Cǎoméi, napping in the sun. But there’s a kitchen, and a hallway that leads to a bathroom, and a bedroom that's ⅔ computer and ⅓ bed. 

Everything in Wonwoo’s apartment is bigger, and messier. He has more stuff than Junhui, but also more places to put his things, and it’s not neat and orderly but Junhui thinks he can make out some sense of a system if he stands by the door and is careful where he steps. 

“What are you growing out here?” Junhui asks, stepping on to the balcony. It’s much nicer than it looks from Junhui’s window. The couch is a lot comfier than he expected it to be, too.

Wonwoo steps onto the balcony behind Junhui, and they’re very close together. Junhui can feel Wonwoo’s breath on his neck. 

“Food, mostly. Mingyu likes to cook, so I try to grow the things he likes.” Wonwoo says. “There’s a tomato plant, and a zucchini plant, and some herbs– basil and sage and stuff.” 

“And stuff.” Junhui repeats, nodding seriously. 

Wonwoo shoves him playfully. “Shut up.” He blushes a little bit. “There’s flowers, too.” 

“Flowers?” Junhui asks. With how practical Wonwoo is, somehow, Junhui didn’t expect him to be the type to plant flowers. 

“Yeah.” Wonwoo nods. “Hydrangeas and lilac, to make it pretty.” 

“Pretty.” Junhui repeats again, and this time, Wonwoo doesn’t shove him. 

“It’s therapy.” Wonwoo says, chewing on his lip again, and this must be why his lips are always so dry and cracked. Junhui reaches into his pocket for his chapstick, but Wonwoo is still talking. 

“I just got out of a really long relationship. It’s why I moved here. I started growing things because it helped to give me structure and something to do. That’s why my friends keep visiting, too. To make sure I’m doing okay.” 

Junhui wonders if Mingming had friends visit him after they broke up. Surely he did, right? The two of them had tons of friends in China, so surely there was someone to stay by his side and pick up the pieces and give him structure and a purpose.

“How long?” Junhui asks, because the darkness in his heart is numbing his mouth. 

Wonwoo smiles wryly, his mouth twisting unnaturally, and it looks wrong. The expression looks wrong on his face, and Junhui wishes for a happy Wonwoo back, one who smiles easily and laughs and shoves Junhui when he’s being annoying. 

“Four years.” He says, and the breath in Junhui’s lungs whooshes out of him. “I spent all of university with him.” 

Junhui swallows the lump in his throat. “That’s a long time.” 

“I’m doing better now, though.” Wonwoo tries to smile reassuringly. “The plants help, and my friends really are the best. Meeting you was good for me too, I think.” 

Junhui can feel his heart collapse in on himself, like a dying star. Hey, that’s cool imagery. Maybe Wonwoo should use it for his book. 

“Junnie,” Wonwoo says, because he’s given up on switching between Junhui and Junhwi and has just settled for Jun. “Have you ever been in love?” 

Junhui takes a deep breath. “No.” His voice sounds hollow to his ears, like it’s barely there. “Love isn’t meant for people like me.” 

“People like you?” Wonwoo asks. 

Junhui doesn’t answer. He just breathes. 

\---

Junhui still remembers the last thing Mingming ever said to him. The words are clear as day in his head, and on the nights he can’t sleep (most nights, these days), the words repeat themselves in an endless loop in his brain. 

“You didn’t deserve my love.” Past Mingming says. “I loved you with everything I had, but you didn’t deserve my love.” 

Junhui hasn’t cried since then, because what’s there to cry about? Mingming was right, after all. 

\---

Junhui calls his parents once a month, because any less than that and they’d go crazy, but Junhui really can’t handle any more than that. It’s a careful balance, a thin line in the sand, that Junhui treads carefully with tiptoes and half-smiles.

“Hey, Gē.” Feng Jun says when Junhui picks up the phone. 

Junhui rolls his eyes. “Hey, kid.” He replies, smiling. “Where’s mom?” 

Feng Jun is fourteen now, and in the throes of puberty. He’s a proper high schooler now, and Junhui hates it, because he still remembers the day his little brother was born. He basically raised the kid, and now he’s a teenager? Unacceptable. 

“My son.” Junhui’s mom takes the phone from Feng Jun, and Junhui breathes out a sigh of relief at her face. She’s just as beautiful as he remembered, and it’s nice to know that her oldest son’s lack of direction in his life isn’t stressing her out too much. 

“I made a friend.” Junhui says, and looks out his window, even though he knows it’s not watering time and Wonwoo won’t be there. “He lives across the alley from me, in the next building.” 

Junhui’s mom smiles. “Is he nice?” She asks. 

Junhui laughs. “No. He steals all my food and doesn’t cook me anything in return and cares about Cǎoméi more than he does me.” 

Feng Jun pops his head in front of the camera. “I care about Cǎoméi more than I care about you.” He says, seriously, and pops away, laughing out loud. 

Junhui rolls his eyes again. “Jerk.” His mother laughs good-naturedly. 

“I’m glad you have friends.” She tells him. “It’s been hard for you ever since Mingming came back, hasn’t it?” 

Junhui doesn’t want to talk about Mingming. If he had it his way, he would never talk about Mingming again, or think about him, or any of the above. But he’s known Mingming his whole life, and they were closer than brothers in high school, and he had been a constant sight in Junhui’s household. There’s no avoiding talking about Mingming, not with Junhui’s mother. 

“It’s been okay.” Junhui says. They both know it’s a lie. 

“Oh, Junhui.” His mother sighs. “I still don’t understand what happened. You two were so close, before.” 

Junhui thinks of Mingming, and the way his dark hair had fallen into his eyes and how strong his hands were. He’s nothing like Wonwoo but everything like Wonwoo, and it’s all Junhui can do to just breathe. 

“We grew apart. Everyone grows apart. He’s doing well now, and so am I, and that’s enough, isn’t it?” 

He doesn’t mean for the last part of his sentence to get sharper and sharper, but it does, and the hurt on his mother’s face makes him regret it immediately. 

“Mom, I didn’t…”

“Are you doing well, though? You’re still not playing piano anymore, are you?” 

Junhui knows Mingming is doing well. He heard from Yanan, who heard from Lucas, who heard from Xiaojun, that Mingming teaches dance in his own little school to elementary schoolers. It’s exactly the life he had wanted, and exactly the future he had come to Korea to get. Junhui wishes he were angry, but he can’t find it in him to be anything other than overjoyed that at least one of them has managed to make their dreams come true. 

Junhui, on the other hand, can barely play a single note in the piano. Jihoon plays Tiānshǐ more than he does, a fact that escapes neither of their notices, but other than that, he’s doing fine. He has a job and some friends and a cat, and it’s more than he thought he could have so Junhui needs to _get over himself_ and learn to be happy. 

“I’m okay, mom. I have a job to support me while I figure out what to do. I could go back to school and become a teacher, or I know a couple people in the industry who can get me some gigs.” 

The problem isn’t that Junhui doesn’t have options. It’s that he spends most days in bed, getting up only to feed Cǎoméi or go to work or spend time with Wonwoo or listen to Jihoon play his piano, but it’s his life, and he’ll make do. 

(He can’t go home, because he doesn’t have the money and doesn’t know how he’ll be able to face his parents after they’ve given up so much for him to chase his dreams, but it’s his life. He’ll make do.)

“I just want you to be happy.” Junhui’s mom tells him. 

_Me too._ His heart beats in rhythm. _Me too, me too, me too._

“I am happy.” Junhui replies, and tells his heart to shut up. 

\---

It’s two months after Junhui talks to Wonwoo for the first time that Wonwoo tries to kiss him. 

They’re sitting on Junhui’s couch, Junhui petting Cǎoméi and scrolling through Weibo on his phone, Wonwoo working on some schoolwork for class. 

“I hate this.” Wonwoo moans, throwing his glasses onto Junhui’s lap (and Cǎoméi, by proxy) and rubbing his eyes furiously. 

“Meow.” Cǎoméi complains. 

“What?” Junhui asks, looking up from his phone. “Is everything okay?” 

Only, his face is really close to Wonwoo’s. And Wonwoo’s eyes are fuzzy, like they’re trying to focus on something but can’t, but they’re shining, like he’s thinking about something he loves. His hands are on his laptop but one is slowly reaching towards Junhui’s face, and Wonwoo’s rough, chewed up lips are getting closer and closer, and it’s all too much. Everything’s too much. 

Junhui stands, suddenly, and Cǎoméi screeches, digging her claws into Junhui’s thighs as she falls to the ground. Junhui barely spares her a glance, though, because he’s staring at Wonwoo, who's looking right back at Junhui with hurt eyes and brows furrowed together, like he doesn’t quite know where things went wrong. 

“I think you should leave.” Junhui says. His voice cracks. “Please go.” 

Wonwoo frowns even more, and Junhui hates it, because it’s his fault. It’s always his fault, but he won’t make this mistake again, so he’ll accept the blame gladly so long as Wonwoo leaves. 

“I…” Wonwoo trails off. 

“Go!” Junhui points at the door with a shaking finger, because he can’t _breathe._

Wonwoo goes. 

Junhui sinks to his knees and counts his breaths until the white noise in his head fades away. 

\---

Junhui has told himself ever since he found himself alone in their one bedroom apartment in Seoul that the piano thing and the Mingming thing were completely unrelated.

And it makes sense. The piano thing was because Junhui is good, but he was never good enough, not for the prodigies and the overachievers and competitive world of professional musicians. The Mingming thing was because he loved Mingming with his whole heart, but he couldn’t love Mingming enough, not the way Mingming wanted him to.

Slight differences. Subtle. A thin line in the sand.

Junhui knows for sure now the piano thing and the Mingming thing aren’t related because that night, after Wonwoo has left and Junhui has pulled the curtain tight over his window, he sits down at the piano bench and _plays._

He plays, and there’s music coming from his fingers and his heart and they fill the apartment and echo over what seems like the entirety of Seoul and it’s music. Junhui’s music.

Junhui plays something angry, and then something soft and sad, and he’s long forgotten their names but his fingers haven’t forgotten their places, and normally he would be happy that all those hours of forcing memorization into his hands have come in handy but all he can feel is numbness. 

The void has taken over his entire soul, because Wonwoo was good. Wonwoo was good to him, Wonwoo was his friend, and now Wonwoo is nothing and it’s all Junhui’s fault. It’s always Junhui’s fault. 

\---

Wonwoo comes back two days later. 

Junhui calls off work, and doesn’t sleep, and eats toast until he runs out but doesn’t go back to the store for more. Instead, he lies in bed, Cǎoméi purring on his chest, because he’s heard that cat’s purrs can heal broken bones so maybe Cǎoméi can heal his broken heart. 

Broken, not because someone broke it, but because he was never whole to begin with. 

There’s a knock on his door, and his phone lights up with a missed call, but Junhui doesn’t move. It’s not until Cǎoméi leaps off his chest and runs to the door that Junhui bothers to sit up, because he misses his cat and her comforting weight. 

He also misses his friend, but Junhui doesn’t want to think about Wonwoo. 

“Hello.” Wonwoo says. “You don’t look that good.” 

Junhui doesn’t know what he looks like, but he can guess. He hasn’t showered since yesterday, and he’s sure there’s hints of stubble on his face and probably a stain or two on his pajamas, but that’s fine. Wonwoo looks the same as usual, only the bags under his eyes look a little darker and his hair looks a little shorter, but other than that, nothing has changed. 

“Come in, I guess.” Junhui says, making way for Wonwoo to enter. 

“Thanks. Is everything okay?” 

Junhui laughs sarcastically. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” He makes his way to the kitchen carefully, because there are black spots in front of his eyes, and his stomach is rioting violently. Wonwoo sits down on the couch. “Can I get you anything to drink? Sorry, I don’t have much in terms of food right now.” 

“It’s fine.” Wonwoo replies, and Junhui hears the telltale purrs of Cǎoméi making herself comfortable in Wonwoo’s lap.

“Junnie.” Wonwoo says, when Junhui has returned from the kitchen with two glasses of water balanced precariously in his grip. “What happened on Friday?” 

“Was that Friday?” Junhui asks, because he’s lost control of his life a long time ago. He sits on the piano bench, holding his water between both of his shaking hands. “I didn’t even realize.” 

“Focus, Junnie.” Wonwoo is finally starting to sound angry. Good. “What happened?” 

“You tried to kiss me, and I didn’t want you to kiss me. So I told you to leave, and you did.” Junhui thinks what happened on Friday is fairly straightforward. They were both present when it happened, after all.

But Wonwoo just shakes his head. “No.” He sounds firm. “I know you, and I’ve told you a lot about myself, and you’ve told me a lot about yourself. I know you wouldn’t kick me out that violently, not even if I tried to kiss you. You’d joke around with me and tell me I’m reading things wrong, sure, but you wouldn’t kick me out and treat yourself this–” Wonwoo waves his hand at Junhui’s body– “badly if something didn’t seriously hurt you. So I’m asking what that is.” 

Junhui thinks for a moment, because Wonwoo is right. Junhui isn’t the type to take things seriously– he never was, even when he was younger, always laughing and making jokes and never holding grudges. It’s been harder, since Mingming left, but Wonwoo is right– this isn’t about him at all. It’s about Junhui. 

(It’s always been about Junhui.)

“I got Cǎoméi after Mingming left.” Junhui starts. 

“What?” Wonwoo asks. “Her?” He lifts Cǎoméi in his arms, and she bats at his nose angrily. Wonwoo quickly puts her down before he gets his face clawed off. 

Junhui nods. “Her name means strawberry. Mingming hated cats, so he refused to let me get one, but he loved strawberries, so after he left I got a cat and named her after something he loved so I would always remember.” 

“Remember what? You aren’t making any sense.” The words should sound annoyed, but Wonwoo’s tone is calm, as though he’s trying to push Junhui toward whatever point he’s trying to make. 

“Mingming was my boyfriend.” Junhui says. “We dated for four years and broke up after university, and it was my fault.” 

“Your boyfriend.” Wonwoo repeats, and Junhui nods, because he can still taste Mingming’s lips on his tongue if he closes his eyes for too long. 

“I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.” Wonwoo says, when it becomes clear that Junhui doesn’t quite know how to continue. “Relationships are all about partnership, right? So it’s not any one person’s fault, or any one person’s mistake.” 

Junhui shakes his head. “He broke up with me because I couldn’t love him right.” 

Wonwoo stares. “What does that mean?” 

Junhui sighs, because he’s had years to think about it, and yet he still can’t find a way to put his thoughts into words. “He was my best friend, right? We grew up together, and we were inseparable, and he fell in love with me in high school. And I loved him more than I loved anyone else, and I thought that’s what falling in love was supposed to be like, you know? But he asked me to be his boyfriend and it felt wrong but I said yes anyway, and kept saying yes all the way until the end of university when he asked me to marry him and I couldn’t say yes anymore.” 

Wonwoo is quiet for a moment. “You loved him?” He asks, like he doesn’t quite understand the words. 

“He was my best friend.” Junhui says miserably. “But I didn’t want to kiss him, and I didn’t want to have sex with him. With anyone, really.” 

“He proposed, and you said no.” 

“I said no.” Junhui repeats. “Because he asked me at our favorite restaurant, and we were both wearing suits, because I had just graduated, and he was looking at me like he loved me more than anyone in the world and I couldn’t feel the same. Mingming was my best friend and he deserved someone who could love him back and love him right so I said no, because that person wasn’t me, and he left to go back to China and I haven’t seen him since.” 

“Hmm.” Wonwoo frowns. “So what does this have to do with me?” 

Junhui stares, because Wonwoo doesn’t _get it._

“Jeon Wonwoo.” He says. “I’m a terrible person. I led my best friend on for four years in a relationship I hated since the moment it began. I lied to everyone around me because I wanted to look like I was _normal_ and it only ended up hurting everyone involved. I can’t fall in love and I won’t fall in love with you back so you should just _stop trying_ and _go home_ and _leave me alone.”_

Wonwoo stares back, eyes unblinking like a cat. “Junnie. Just because you can’t fall in love doesn’t mean you aren’t deserving of any love at all. You know that, right?” 

Junhui’s heart drops straight out of his chest and onto the floor in front of him, cracking and bleeding, for all the world to see. He feels gutted. He can still hear echoes of Mingming’s voice in his head, but Wonwoo is sitting in front of him, and he’s staring with those dark eyes of his and it takes everything in Jun’s power not to simply crumple to the floor in pieces. 

“I am loved.” Junhui chokes out, because there’s nothing left in him anyway. “I have my parents, and–” 

“But you refuse to accept it.” Wonwoo interrupts. “You messed up once, so you sit here in your empty apartment with your cat and a piano you hardly play, staring through the window, for what? You're afraid of people and afraid of yourself, so you go to your shitty job at the sleazy club and you don’t sleep, or eat proper meals, for what? To punish yourself?” 

Wonwoo leans forward, dangerously, and his eyes are shining again. Junhui can’t look away.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” Wonwoo declares firmly, before leaning back, but his voice is the only thing Junhui can hear. “I came back because I heard you play that night. I was watching, and waiting, but you haven’t left your apartment since, and I was worried for you. As a friend, not a lover.” 

“A friend?” Junhui repeats. Mingming was his best friend for so long, but he was also his boyfriend. How long has it been since Junhui’s just had a friend? 

Wonwoo nods. “Yes, a friend.” He says. “And since I’m a friend, I get to tell you that there’s nothing wrong with you, and you have to believe me. It means I’m going to get over whatever stupid rebound crush I have on you and make sure you take care of yourself and ask you to play me songs on your piano, because now that I know how you play I can’t get your music out of my head.” 

Wonwoo’s voice softens, just a little bit. “It means that I’m not going to leave you, even though you’ve turned me down. I’m going to stay, because your cat loves me better anyway, and none of this is contingent on what happened in the past with other people or whether you can fall in love with me or not.” 

Junhui can feel tears in his eyes, which is dumb, because he doesn’t think he’s ever been happier now in this moment than ever before. Not when Feng Jun was born, not when he got his acceptances to university– not even when he received the cheque that gave him Tiānshǐ. 

“What did I do to deserve you?” Junhui wonders, mostly to himself. 

Wonwoo laughs lightly. “Love isn’t about deserving, Junnie, and you’ve been such a light in my life ever since I moved in next door to you. I love you.” The corners of Wonwoo’s mouth creep up the tiniest bit. “No homo, though.” He says. 

Junhui laughs so hard he cries. Which, all things considered, is pretty good.

\---

\---

“I was wondering when you would introduce us to your new boyfriend.” Junhui thinks it’s Seungcheol who says it, the guy with the cow-eyes who shrinks in on himself instinctively. 

“Best friend.” Wonwoo corrects naturally. “Junnie wishes he could get with this.” Wonwoo gestures to himself, running his hand up and down his nonexistent curves, and both Junhui and Seungcheol snort in reply. 

“Yeah, right.” Junhui replies sarcastically. “I’d rather date a plant than date you.” 

Wonwoo’s eyes glint maniacally as he gestures to his balcony. “Take your pick.” He says, sweetly, before all three of them burst into laughter. 

Junhui’s lost track of the number of times he’s been to Wonwoo’s apartment, now. It’s gotten to the point where the security guard recognizes him on sight, and the landlady asks him when he’s moving in. Junhui laughs and tells her that he can’t abandon his precious Cǎoméi like that, but sometimes brings her fruits he buys from the store, just to watch her smile. 

Nearly all of Wonwoo’s friends are here, and it’s not nearly as intimidating as it was before. Junhui’s even got most of their names memorized by now. 

Jihoon is sitting on one end of the couch, Soonyoung at his feet. They’re not touching, but Soonyoung is close enough that Junhui can immediately identify them as “still together”. On the other end of the couch is Seungcheol and Mingyu, the cook, with Wonwoo and Junhui and Minghao in the kitchen. 

Junhui likes Minghao. He can speak their native tongue with him, and even though Minghao tells him off when he gets too clingy, Junhui can tell that he secretly likes him back. 

“I can’t believe Jun is your best friend now.” Mingyu mopes dramatically. “What happened to me? To us?” 

Wonwoo snorts, and walks over to Mingyu to slap the back of his head. “Try being respectful, sometime, and maybe things will be different.” He says, and no one in the apartment bothers hiding their laughter. 

When Junhui leaves, long after the sun has set and Wonwoo has watered his plants for the second time that day, Jihoon and Soonyoung walk with him. 

“Are we still on for Saturday?” Jihoon asks before they part ways, Junhui heading back to his apartment and Jihoon and Soonyoung to the train station. 

Junhui pulls up the mental calendar in his brain. Saturday is the gig at a jazz bar downtown. It’s not a huge thing, but it’s paid, and apparently it’ll be full of people who know people. Jihoon somehow managed to get Junhui an invitation to play, which is great, and Junhui definitely owes him a meal or two now.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” Junhui says. “Wonwoo might tag along too. I think he’s been meaning to get out more, not spend so much time cooped up with his plants.” 

Soonyoung laughs. “That man needs to get laid.” 

Junhui laughs too, because ever since their big talk, he’s learned that Wonwoo is a very sexual being. While Junhui may not relate, he admits it is a little funny watching his friend struggle. Just a little. 

“I’d better get going.” Junhui says, because it’s getting late, and if he wants to be able to get out of bed at all tomorrow, he should get home. Clearly Jihoon and Soonyoung agree, because they say their goodbyes easily, and everyone heads their separate ways. 

When Junhui arrives back at his apartment, he instinctively looks around the living room before looking out the window to Wonwoo’s. Cǎoméi is sleeping on Tiānshǐ’s piano bench, stacks of sheet music surrounding her, and Junhui steps forward to trail his fingers lightly across her back. 

Wonwoo is standing on his balcony, alone. He catches sight of Junhui and waves, an easy smile on his face, black hair falling into his eyes. 

Junhui smiles, laughs, and waves back. 

**Author's Note:**

> me: is it socially acceptable to make a no homo joke between aroace dude and his best friend  
> victor: ya  
> me: good
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/juniscake)


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